


Cherub's Lament

by Arithanas



Series: Love Demands Sacrifices [18]
Category: Les Trois Mousquetaires | The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
Genre: Gen, Heavy Angst, Missing mother, The Talk, animal birth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-04
Updated: 2011-11-04
Packaged: 2018-04-02 07:12:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4050991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arithanas/pseuds/Arithanas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1639, Blois. A child's curiosity can bring tears and draw blood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cherub's Lament

The Count always said it was very important to read fluently and to understand all the words on the page, even the big ones, and Raoul was trying to read by the window. The boy was doing his best effort — concentration was clearly pictured in the frown he wore —, but every so often Raoul amused himself by blowing the curl that fell over his forehead.

There was no lack of distractions around him. Grimaud was busy, as was common in him, Raoul listened as his hands guided the tender branches of jasmine in the new trellis, and the scent of fresh flowers floated up to the window; One of the grooms was leading the old mare to the well; A group of farmers unloading the goods from a cart... Any other day, a friendly but stern voice would ask the child if he was having problems with a word. Not today. _M. le Comte_ was not at home. When Raoul woke up, Grimaud informed him that the master had gone to Blois. He had not returned for the midday meal, but Raoul was not worried, just a little bit bored.

The young Viscount closed the book and broke away from the window. His hands tightened the doublet strings, pulled his shirt sleeves, and adjusted his trousers. Once he gave a better presence, with the Ysopet under his arm, Raoul went for the hot sun on the steps of the _perron_.

Grimaud smiled before the image which was presented shortly after. The kid looked a lot smaller than he actually was as he carried that old incunabula and sporting ill-fitting clothes. The faint whistle of the old servant distracted him of finding the ideal place to continue his reading. Grimaud made a sign with his free hand and Raoul shook his head. No, _M. le Vicomte_ had no desire to drink, thank you. They both returned to their tasks under the early afternoon sun.

Sticking his tongue out, the boy tried to decipher the fable of the wolf and the lamb. There were many strange words in the book and he did not know how he could ask his godfather what they meant if he could not even pronounce them. That problem kept him busy until Grimaud growled an order, not at him, but at the laborers in the garden. Before the iron gates of Bragelonne, a tanned mare pawed the ground.

Raoul was confused, his godfather used to ride a black Andalusian horse, spirited and temperamental. He did not like mares, and riding fat horses displeased him. Why taking a horse that obviously would not give him the pleasure of a good ride? The child had to ask. He supported the book against the pillar and ran into the walk where Grimaud held the stirrup to his master.

" _M. le Comte!_ " Raoul greeted, waving his hand toward the adult who had just alighted.

"Good day, _M. le Vicomte_ ," Athos replied, picking him up off the ground. "I bet you've given Grimaud a lot of work while I was away..."

"I behaved," Raoul chortled and hug him. "I was reading..."

His godfather smiled at the news, and placed the child on the ground.

"Waxed!" Grimaud interrupted patting the huge belly of the horse.

"Good girl!" The Count exclaimed and looked at Raoul who seemed confused. "She will have a horse in the morning."

"Will you buy her a horse?"

Both men laughed at the idea. Grimaud had a throaty chuckle while his master's laugh was deep and resonant. The horse gave a whinny, rubbed her left flank with her muzzle, and scratched the soil with her hooves. The animal did not understand the joke either. Raoul took a couple of steps back, wary.

"I don't get it."

"She's about to give birth, Raoul," the Count explained, petting the mare's head. "She's put out because the foal is moving in her belly."

"Who put it there?" The child's face proclaimed his horror.

"The stallion that covered her last year," was the reply and his hand made a sign to Grimaud. The Count turned his attention to the child. "I suppose you want some explanation and I want some refreshment. Can we do both at the table, Bragelonne?"

"I'll warn Charlot's wife!"

Athos looked as the child ran to the house, he tried by all means to suppress a sigh in which mingled concern and resignation. He was not very successful. It was bound to happen, Raoul was a curious child, that question was fated to be made; but he would have liked it was not made so soon. His son stopped up the stairs to take the book he had abandoned. Grimaud's hand tapped upon his shoulder. They shared a glance.

Grimaud pointed out at him and nodded: _You are ready_.

Athos pointed to the child and tried to smile: _Is he ready?_

...

In the dead of night, Athos and Raoul down the stairs at full speed. Grimaud had knocked at his master's door when the mare broke water, and the Count, true to his word, woke the boy up. That same morning he had proof that Raoul was on track to become a soldier: an operation that used to take him a good quarter of an hour, was done in a moment, as if the call to arms sounded. Grimaud awaited them at the exit of the hot-house, their cloaks on his arms, ready to protect them from the morning dew. The three ran to the paddock, putting on the warm clothes. Raoul was so excited, he could not articulate a word, although Athos knew that the child was desperate to ask questions, as if he had not done enough before bedtime.

The mare whinnied in the paddock and lay down on wet grass. The labor had begun.

Lamps were lit and tied around the posts. The grooms rested his arms on the posts of the paddock, ready to jump in if the mare needed help, but keeping the distance to avoid frighten her. Grimaud, without stopping, jumped the fence and sat on the rails with confidence and grace of someone accustomed to doing it. The Count was stopped a few feet from the fence, the spectacle was not unknown to him and he could not afford to mount on the fence, not at the sight of the servants. Raoul, with the hood falling on the shoulders, looked up at his godfather. Athos smiled and pointed to the fence with the chin, inviting him to watch.

Horses are wonderful animals, and this particular mare was young and strong. The delivery did not take long to complete, Raoul watched the process with admiration. When the small hooves of the foal emerged from the mare's body, all covered in a milky membrane, the child called him through gestures and a brief word. The Count then condescended to squat beside him, passing his arm around the boy. He had worried that Raoul would be struck and it had been a relief to see that the child reacted with his usual curiosity; Athos did his best to answer his questions truthfully. When the foal's head appeared, Raoul pressed against his chest and was immediately embraced. One of the grooms jumped into the paddock and opened the white membrane with a knife cut so that the foal could take his first breath. A wet head stuck between the sheath and, while the rest of the body was delivered, the stable man approached the fence to get a light.

"We have a colt!" the man reported, illuminating a foal that wore a dark gray coat with some distinctive marks around the eyes.

Grimaud whistled. His master answered the call. The servant pointed out at him and then, with both hands, imitated the gesture of taking the reins. Athos nodded. As everyone suspected, the foal was a product of his Andalusian stallion, even though the mare had escaped from the stall during her estrus. It was good to know that this breeding was a good investment.

Raoul grabbed the Count's coat and Athos dedicated to him his whole attention. It was worrisome that his son returned to his old habit of clinging to his clothes, but what alarmed him was Raoul's taut expression; under the dim light of the lamp the boy seemed prepared to run away. Athos spoke not to him; he only put his hand on his child's shoulder, and began to rub it slowly, as if to warm him.

"She doesn’t like her baby..." Raoul muttered under his breath, his eyes were glued the scene in the paddock.

The mare was lying on the grass with her head on the legs, panting heavily. The newborn foal also was resting, wrapped in a shroud of membranes. Athos wondered what about that so ordinary scene that had given Raoul that grim idea.

"She's just tired," Athos tried to correct the idea. "The birth must have been difficult for her."

"Really?" His voice declared that he was not convinced.

"Didn't you see the size of that foal, Bragelonne?"

Raoul tried to smile, but in that precise moment the ill-fated mare fancied to stand on her feet, and the child's face showed an expression of anxiety that was more terrifying than moving.

"See! She doesn’t like her baby!"

The wail of the child made clear that he felt betrayed. The Count turned his face to see Grimaud, but none of them had words. No one had anticipated such a reaction on the part of Raoul. It was very fortunate that Nature was wiser than these two men: the mare started nuzzling and licking her foal, stimulating the colt to stand and seek nourishment, and the foal complied, trying to stand up in his long, gangly legs. Raoul eyes went to wide and gave out an exclamation of surprise.

" _Pa!_ He's moving!" Raoul jumped in place and clapped his hands in a burst of joy. He never even realized that he had called the Count with the term of endearment that should not be used in mixed company. "He's getting up!"

With servants present or absent, the Count felt he needed to lean against the fence, which he did without any ceremony. His valet patted his shoulder as to comfort him of the ordeal he had just faced. Athos began to thank Heaven than chalice was taken from him when Grimaud broke contact suddenly. A warning neigh was heard. The master raised his head and a rush of blood pounded in his temples, his body reacted immediately, his legs lifted him off the floor and supported his arms on the fence to jump to the paddock. He reached the ground before Grimaud could drop from the fence.

"Raoul, no!"

The child hesitated before stopping completely; somehow he had managed to sneak within the enclosure. Perhaps he just wanted to get a closer look, without being aware of the danger posed by a half-ton mare that has just given birth. Behaviors learned in the field of battle were already second nature and the old musketeer took the child in his arms and faced the mare that snorted and neighed furiously at the intrusion. To some extent, the animal recognized the man as her master; but that did not prevent the mare to approach the Count and neigh at his face, threatening him. The maternal instinct has always been a frightening thing.

"Take the mare to the stable," he ordered, holding his gaze to the animal, "for she must nurse her foal."

"Yes, master!" replied the chief groom. The man was pale.

"Don't forget the alum!" The tone of his voice did not betray the mixture of emotions within him.

" _Pa?_ " Raoul asked, his hand holding the mantle, his godfather was leaving the field with long strides and the child's body jerked because he had no support on that trembling arm.

"That was dangerous, Bragelonne!" The Count rebuked by passing through the door held open by Grimaud.

"But the colt was so cute!"

The adult said nothing, he was still trying to calm his nerves after that unpleasant matter, trying to remember that Raoul was a child and needed to learn that everything had consequences. Nothing had prepared him for such naive conduct, that trait was not part of his family. He paused before entering the mansion and his arms closed around the child's body, thanking heaven that his son was safe. Raoul huddled against him, without a word; he could be naive and slow to understand certain things, but he understood that had frightened the man.

...

Not long after, Athos tucked Raoul for him to sleep a few hours before starting the day.

"Raoul, do you want the mare to like her foal?" the Count asked, removing some locks of hair from the child's forehead. He needed a good haircut.

The child, the more sleepy than awake, slowly nodded and put his confident eyes on the adult's face, ready to drink every word out of those lips.

"Then don't touch her foal until I say so. Mares are very jealous."

"Are they, _pa_?"

"Mothers usually are," he replied wearily. Athos bowed to take the candle of small side table and to place a kiss on Raoul's forehead. "Sleep well, Bragelonne."

The child's bedroom was almost dark, but Athos was accustomed to walk through it without the assistance of an additional light. His mind had already begun to think that he had to return to the stable to ensure that the foal was well cared for; his hand was already on the doorknob...

" _Pa?_ "

"Yes, Raoul?"

"What if I touch her baby?"

"Perhaps she no longer wants him and we would have to get him another house."

"Ohh..."

"Sleep, Raoul"

The door closed behind him.

...

Next day, after the Angelus, Grimaud was sitting under the window of the library, in his hand was a sheet of paper covered with crude handwriting, his attention was not in the letter, but in the small figure next to the paddock, the kid had been scratching that mutt ears for an awful long time. A shadow fell over his head and the faithful Breton made a gesture of both hands together under his chin, followed by a raised thumb: _Did you sleep well?_

The master of the house replied with a raised thumb while drinking a sip of beer to replace the meal he had skipped: _Affirmative._ The shadow of his hand fell on the paper.

"Mousqueton," was the answer. The servant folded the letter and put it in his doublet.

"Send his master my regards," Athos said, raising the cup again. "Raoul?"

Grimaud extended his arm and pointed to the figure with an open hand: _There he is_.

There was no immediate response. The count observed the child for a moment, assessing his general stance, and ran his fingers over his lips, a gesture that indicated concern or, perhaps, that he wanted a sip of wine. Then, in quick succession, he pointed to Blaisois, made the gesture of putting on the hat, and drew a wide arc towards Raoul: _Send Blaisois to give him his hat._

Grimaud dared to protest. He raised his hand, pointed at Raoul, pointed at his master, united and separated his fingers, and clapped to indicate its urgency: _You_ ** _must_** _talk to him!_

"When he is ready."

...

Raoul did not come to his godfather immediately, instead, the child spent a couple of sad days around the paddock, his general conduct had shifted and there was no trace of the curious child. Athos and Grimaud never stopped observe him, although, for the father, it was more difficult to resist the wait. The servant did everything possible to lessen the torment, but there seemed no care or attention enough to calm the restlessness of his master. So many years together had taught the Breton when something was a lost battle.

When the child's tongue was unleashed, it did so without noise or fanfare. Raoul just took a stool and sat beside his godfather's chair, with his face toward the chimney fire, as if he dared not to raise his eyes to the adult. Grimaud came up with a cup of tea, and pointed at the boy with his finger, nodding: _He is ready_.

The Count smiled smugly: _Am I ready?_

Before leaving, the Breton raised his eyes to heaven with both hands open, as if begging mercy to God Almighty.

The walnut wood crackled in the fireplace, the Count slowly drank his tea, giving the child time to present his case, but Raoul looked only at the dancing flames, his lips were tight, his hands resting on his thighs. Bedtime was approaching rapidly, and although in recent days Athos had turn a blind eye to reading exercises, it would do not well to neither of them that Raoul did not have enough rest, the child was positively unbearable if he did not sleep well.

"Ra..."

"I wonder, _pa_ ," the child interrupted, it seemed that he too had been aware of the clock. "Did anyone touch me when I was a baby?"

"I don't understand you, Raoul," Athos responded and made him the sign to sit on his lap. "Care to explain?"

Raoul shook his head and the question he really wanted to do come out from his lips: "Why my mother did not want me?"

Raoul's position, his fingers clutching at his pants, elbows tight against his side, proclaimed that the child tried to be strong. Tears began to spill onto his sunburned cheeks but one could tell the effort that the child made to stop his lips from to trembling. It was too much to ask to a little boy, and the heart of Athos bled at the poignant image; without haste, he knelt before the boy and opened his arms, inviting him to seek shelter in them.

"Oh, forgive me!" Raoul begged, throwing himself into his arms.

"Hush!" Athos whispered, getting up to walk with the child in his arms. "It's all right, cry, Raoul..."

Raoul sobbed and buried his face between Athos' shoulder and neck, repeating his plea every few steps; and the Count heard every one of them, although each one hurt like a whiplash and embarrassed him like a reproach. He knew he deserved each and every one as punishment for his dishonesty; and yet that does not prevent him to continue lying to his son.

In the morning, he would repeat the same lies about the abandoned baby, he would try to explain that there was no way of knowing if his parents were alive or dead, he would remind Raoul how much he loved him. But, for the time being, he could only hug that poor innocent and pray that resignation come soon to him.


End file.
